Far Too Many Notes for My Taste
by civilizedrevolutionary
Summary: Combeferre needs help studying for an exam the next morning, yet finds himself unable to focus. Luckily, he has some great friends who form a last minute study group to get him through the night.


Combeferre flipped through three years worth of notes from his medical textbooks, remembering what he'd told himself to do several hours before. _Mark the most important details only. It makes for more effective study._

All he could see were endless underlined passages of his crammed handwriting, which was becoming to look more and more foreign to him as he stared at it. Frustrated and exhausted, he held his head in his hands, massaging the back of his neck to try to relieve tension. He'd been studying for months in preparation for this exam. Only now he had decided it would be necessary to review _everything_. He could hardly differentiate one concept from another.

The room had been long empty of his friends, who had left the Musain when Combeferre had asked them for quiet.

They had been reluctant to leave, until Enjolras grew indignant and started talking.

"For the love of France, is this how you demonstrate your support to your friend? To your brother? Combeferre studies to be a doctor; he will save lives one day, no doubt most of yours, you indolent—"

He continued for half an hour. Still, they would not leave. Combeferre had picked up his books at one point, prepared to study on the streets if he had to, at least there it would be quiet—

Bossuet crashed into him, sending his meticulously arranged notes and materials to go up in the air, scattered like leaves. Apologizing profusely, Bossuet bent down to pick them up. Combeferre winced as some of his notes were crushed underfoot, yet made no comment.

"Combeferre," Joly said, "do you not always tell me to study in advance? Why are you still working? I know you have been stretching yourself thin since December."

"Yes," Enjolras added, "and what about getting a sufficient night of sleep in preparation for full mental capacity in the morning?"

"Oh, you're glad to parrot his advice but you never take it," Joly muttered.

Combeferre had only shaken his head.

"This exam is important. You'll see next year. I can sleep _after_ I have passed with decent marks."

* * *

Combeferre now wished he had asked Joly to stay to help him go over the subject matter. Usually they gave each other practice exams to hone their memory, but now it was too late.

With a sigh he packed up his books and trudged back to his apartment.

When he opened the door, Combeferre had to stop the groan from escaping his mouth. All of his friends, _all_ of them, had cramped themselves in his and Enjolras' tiny apartment. Their heads turned to him as he entered, shutting the door behind him.

Bossuet stepped up proudly. "Before you throw us out, hear this. We have decided that if you truly do not believe you are ready for this exam, we will help you in every way we can to make sure you are. After all, what kind of useless friends would we be if all we did was drink and act like fools?"

Bahorel frowned and muttered to Grantaire. "Does he mean _us_?"

Grantaire smiled wryly as he drained his glass of wine.

Jehan appeared, holding a large mug of steaming coffee. "How about we substitute an unhealthy eight hours of sleep with hot liquid energy?"

Combeferre couldn't resist a tiny smile as he looked gratefully at all of his friends. Maybe they could help him, maybe they could not. He only knew that he had never fully appreciated them as much as he did now.

Courfeyrac must have read his mind. With a smirk and a dramatic wiggling of his eyebrows, he asked, "Now what would you do without such magnificent friends?"

"Get my studies complete without your distractions," Combeferre said teasingly. He flopped down to the floor on his stomach with a renewed energy. He carefully spread his textbooks and notes out. Joly, Enjolras, and Grantaire followed. Enjolras raised his eyebrows scornfully at Grantaire.

"And what do _you_ expect to accomplish, wine cask? Help test him on the differences in Burgogne and Beune wine?"

Grantaire stared levelly at him. "If that is what he wishes. What will you do, spout more of your Utopian nonsense? I am here to help my friend; if you do not approve that is your business, but not mine."

Enjolras glared at him before shaking his head and giving Combeferre that timeless look, meaning, _why is Grantaire so insufferable? _ .

The next few hours were madness. Combeferre and Joly flew through the notes and each other's quizzes, and soon Bahorel joined in.

"Quick, what must you do when someone is bleeding heavily?"

"Ah, what do you take me for, a fool? Wait for the blood to run out." Bahorel snuck Combeferre a grin as he waited for Joly's exasperated response.

"No!" Joly howled indignantly. "They _die_ if they lose too much blood!"

"Remind me never to let Bahorel be my doctor," Grantaire said serenely, casually flipping through Combeferre's anatomy book.

Jehan kept returning with mugs of coffee, so much that Combeferre grew suspicious as to where he'd obtained it in such quantities. Surely it wasn't all theirs?

When asked, Enjolras ears turned slightly red and shook his head, shrugging nonchalantly.

Feuilly silently followed Combeferre's progress with his notes. He picked up fairly quickly, and somehow remembered the smallest of details.

"A twenty year old woman, a fifty year old man, and a three year old child all come in with a stomach ache. How would you treat them differently?"

"Gallantly sweep the poor woman off her feet and, using my devilishly handsome looks and charm for medicine, she's cured of her _ennui. _That's what stomach aches are, really, especially in the young. No wonder she feels sick, with a husband almost thrice her age and a child. As for the other two, send them to Combeferre." Courfeyrac and Bahorel laughed. Feuilly shook his head, his lips turned up almost in a smile.

"They are not related, Courfeyrac."

Combeferre closed his eyes for a moment to rest his eyes.

"Auguste?" Feuilly nudged him with his elbow. "Do you still want to continue?"

Combeferre opened his eyes. "Perhaps I should just let it be," he said wearily. "Truly, I cannot escape the final judgement of the exam. If I am worthy, I will pass. If I am not, it is through my own faults."

The others protested vehemently, partly out of sincerity and partly because of the caffeine pulsing through their veins, causing every word and action to be twice as loud as usual.

"We told you, we shan't leave until you've mastered everything from muscle memorization to arrowhead removal!" Jehan said. The others cheered, making enough commotion that Combeferre worried the landlord might complain.

"I suppose sleep would do no good at this point," Combeferre consented, his woeful glance to his bed in the corner going unnoticed by his friends.

Through the rest of the night to the morning they lay, testing and reading and reciting until their eyes burned and their throats were parched and dry. At around dawn, Combeferre was the last of them to finally drop off to sleep.

When the time to go to class came, he rose from the floor, stretching his stiff and tired muscles, making his way carefully among the sleeping bodies of his friends sprawled everywhere on the floor. He cast one last affectionate look before leaving, and with a tired smile he shut the door.

He would do well today, he could feel it.


End file.
